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“ My dear old Syd,” said George, Bulkin writing. “ Very well.” said Joe. “ Put down the date and all that ; now. My dear Syd or M) dear Brother, 0r However you write to him." I‘OSEPH‘S COAT “ Very well. My dear old Sydlâ€"I have the very strangest news tn give you. I am writing this letter under the roof of an old schooliellow and friend of yours, Joe Bushell I found him out almost by accident in New York. I told him that you had long since given him up for dead and buried. He was awfully glad to are a face from the old country. and especially a brother of yours. He was immensely surprised to learn who I was, and had no idea that the governor had married a second time. He has pros» pered very much out here, and thinks of running over with‘me to England, so that you mum. expect to see us both together You will remember the circumstances under which he left home, and will understand what I am now about to ask. Pray say noâ€" thing about his projected visit. He is just coming over to see old placas and one old friend â€"yourself He does not. intend to make himself known to anybody else. He desires me to put this to you with all neediul strength, and of coursein saying that I have said more than enough. He sends his must friendly regards. I will advise you of the probable time of our arrival.”â€"â€"All that down? ” “ Yes," said George, “it‘s all down.” “ Very well. Now you can go on with your own affairs.” “ Oh, that’s enough for a letter,” cried the young man with an air of disgusted fatigue ; “ I hate letter-Writing.” T‘WAWlVl’righh” said Jbe. ” Close up as soon as you likle A . n , ,,,1:,,M ...., J-“ ...... “ ‘ I am.” ’ murmured Gemrge, scrawling away, ‘ “my dear old Syd, your affectionate bronher,-George.” ‘ _ . .~ .... ., ~.u..,-_ , v V v V , , , “ Here's an envelope! address it,” said Joe, almost hilarious in manner. He was thinking of Dinah all the time, thinking with much bitter self-upbraiding, and it needed some bustle to keep his heart up. “ ‘Sir Sydney Cheston,Bart.," ’ murmured George, as he daehed ofi the address in a sprawling and unclerky hand, Worley Hall, Siaflordahire. England":y “ That‘s r1ght,”said Joe. pulling at the bell. “ Post that at once," he said, handing the letter to the maid who entered in answer to the summons. “ And now,” he cried, throwing himself mbo a chair and looking across at George winb a face of resolve, “ I'm bound to go. I Wanted to go, and I couldu‘n make my mind up, and now I‘ve done it, because a promise is a promise, and the thing’s arranged.” The actual writer of the letter was no'. quite at; ease, but he consoled himself with the reflection tum Sir Syndey Cheston’s amazement in Sbafiordshire could not. greatly affect. him in ihe United States. George wasn’t, going back to England, if he knew in. He sat halt listening to his host’s anticipa- tions and plans. halfâ€"thinking out his own scheme for dropping his host at the right point. He was fully made up on that easily decided question of gomg back to England. The fear of recognition Was multiplied there a. thousand fold; here is was minimised. And, besides that, America. was undoubtedly a better place to get on in than England. .. ...... r ...... O, , Bun, in spite of these excellent reasons for avoiding England, he v. was doomed to go there; and a chain of events. which may be very biiefly summaiised, dragged him thither with a force beyond all his powers of resist ance. First; link :â€"â€"in the absence of his host at business, young George went gamb ling. Second link 2- he lost, and was alâ€" solurely cleaned out. Thirdzâ€"he was com pelled by Joe's discovery to admit the truth Fuurbh : â€"Jue paid for his passage by the cars to New York, and for his passage bv the steamer to Liverpool; and, detecting an ex- traordinary and inexplicable desire on the young man‘s pm to out and run. he Watched him like a hen With one chicken, and gave him no opportunity for eacipa. ,nu_ V __A; “"‘u “V Vrr ------- 4 7 7 . So they landed m Liverpool together ; and behold, Wmlsb Joe was locking after the lug gage, young George made a bolt with a Boli~ tary porlmauneau, which belonged not; to himself but to his host; and Joe to his egistered in accordance with the Copyrigh Actor 1875.] unwuvnl .Hw . amazemenn and chagrin, was left to face Great Britain alone. He was both mortified and bewildered, for it did not 5% occur to him that this chance acquaintance was a uuu u...“ .H.., pretender. He «(last that his old chum Cheston kept a tight hand upnn this younger brother, and that the lad was afraid to face bun after his American extravaâ€" to face bun after his Amerlcan txuruvuâ€" gences. “ But hemust have thought poorly of me,” said Joe, a lime bitterly. “ no fancy that I should split) upon him.” The terrible text ate deep into old George‘s heart; but remorse is not penitence, and he suflered all the unholy pangs of one. and had ‘ none of the bleseed pains of the other. lie was not even safe from detection ; and it is possible that if he had been, the fires of conscience would have burned less dreadfully He was getting to be old, and, what with his troubles and advancing age. he began to sufler pains and disabilities which were hard to bear. Eating and drinking used to be pleasant, and were so no longer. To a stupid man like old George it is hurd to lose the pleasures of the table ', much harder than for another who has sources of en10y~ ment outside the range of the coarser senses He had been used to work hard and to sleep soundly, and now work had no relish and night no rest worth talking of. Alto geiher, his road was thorny and full of fears. Things went on for two or three weeks in pretty much the old fashion when one day, as he sat alone in his private room, pipe in mouth, staiing at the fire, a knock came to the outer door, and a minute later hih housekeeper followed her own tap, and came in with a visiting card pinched between finger and thumb in a corner of her apron. “ A gentleman to see you, sir," said Mrs. Bullus. " Show him in," said the old man, and took the card uuintcrestedly. It tell from his fingers as he read “ Mr. John Keen, Soli- citor, Wrethedale.” n H, A. ...\.,_.~.“. it ..... , ,. . -._ , He 21‘0de darkly on the floor to recover it John Keen entered ; and the old man, sml feeling blindly for the card, looked up at him, with a face reddeued by snooping, and lack lustre eyes. “ Good day, Mr. Bushell,” said John, with formal politeness. George ceased his blind search for tln card and sat. up, breathing somewhat quickly. “ Good day, Mr. Keen. Take a cheer. To what am I iudtbcedâ€" â€"â€"?”> .,. - H, wunu u“; - .u .\~w_. “ I do not suppose you will find me a wel come visitor, Mr. Bushell. when you know my business. You may remember a. state maul: made to you win) regard to the identity of )our late plivate secxenary.” M GA... 5L.” 7713b?" Bind old George. again; ?"_ u - I, ___. “Ibo-mu . -‘Onthe day on which you gave George Banks into custody,” said John slowly and distinctly, “you received 21 visit from he lady who was supposed to be his sister." Old George said nothing. not having: it in him to say anything just then; but hr glared at his visitor wnh fishlike eyes, in which there was no speculation. “ She Lola you the real nature of the relationship be tween them, and you profeseed to diebeliev: her.” .. .. .‘ fl _ u Very well. Mr. Bushell,” said John, bu mess like. “ I am a lawyei, as you hm." I am engaged by Mrs. Jusuyh Bauhell to pro ceed againm you for the recovery of her rights, and I am in a position to prove he: claim. Here.” said John. producinga pockei book and leisurely opening it, ‘- is avgopyyogi :gpniggidfuazgh‘and fills; Dinah Banks) 50] mtuu church. Whatevu pm party your brother Joseph pogxéesged at hi! “ I said It was a pack 0’ lies," said miserable old rascal, " au’ I say so now.’ BY DAVID CHRISTlE MURRAY. CHAPTER XXIII. “ Say that said the ieath was, in 1119 absence of her husband. .egnlly hu-‘rs. and is still legally here. There Us no dilfisulty in the world as to the com- pleleness of the proof, and I should advise, you to make ajudicious surrenderl” " Oh I" said old George Wicll a heavy jeer, though his heart was muffed and his head was whirling. “ you‘d adwso ma to mek a Judicious surrender, would you? That ain’t. 0001 an all, that} ain‘t, Is it}? Oh dear me, “ Mr. Bushell.” said John, copying a line from poor dear Sir Ro 'er’s torturer in chief “ perhaps you would be Sl’ll‘pllfied to hear that; the original certificate of the mar- liege has been slolen from the register at Watson church ‘2” The old man‘s jaw dropped ; helaid a hand on each aim of his chair, and made as if to rise; but his limbs refused to obey him, his face turned purple, and the veim in his temple stood our like Curds. " Excuse me for a moment,” said John, and. rising. he opened the door. " Come this way,” he ellled to someone out- Eide. ' The Sexton entered, twirling hi3 hat in both hands. and looking amazingly uucom fumble. “ Is this the gentleman who came to Was- ton church a Week or two 5.20, and asked to look at the register of marnages ‘1”? “ That‘s mE gentleman, sifl,“ said the sex~ tun. “ Is this the gentleman who gave you a shilling; to drink wnh ?-â€"the gentleman whom you left alone in the vestry whilst you went out. to get a pint; of beer ‘2” “Yes, sir," said the sexton; “ that’s the gentleman sir,“ “ It‘s a pack 0’ lies I" cried the wretched old man, struggling to his feet. “ As sure as there‘s 8, Heaven above us, I never set eyes 0‘ the man nfore in all my born days. I‘ll tek my oath on it.” A judgment? A sudden judgment from Heaven he had invoked so wickedly? His head swam round and round ; he felt with wandering hands for a support, and found none , there were splashâ€" es of alternate ink and fire in the silver mist which shut out everything about him; his mnlfi ed heart strove to heat as if the atrugg‘e Would burst it. But he was desperate de~ spite these fears. “ I swear 11:,” he stem mered, groping blindly. “ It’s a. pack 0‘ liesl ’ Mrs. Bullus rushed from her room, screaming “ June 1 ” and. the maid appear mg. dispatchtd her, with a. flea. in her ear. Jane fled weeping and breathless. and by good hap being recognized by the medical man was followed by him. For what with breatlilvssness and the terror and resentment .mspired by the hour‘ckeeper’a unprovode assault upon her, the maid was speechless. [‘he doctor app ared, somewhat winded, for he was a. man of rather pursy habit. and un- used to the display of pedestrian power. He had only time once more to feel, with an access of his pains and terrors, that he had anew defied the threatened judgmem. when down he went with a crash, striking the back of his head against the fender. John fell upon him, dragged him on to the hearthrug. tare oi? his stock. and. with one nervous effort, ripped his shirt oven from collar to wai~thand. The old man had been drinking again; and the lawyer, seeing a CRl'RfB of water on the table, seized it, and began vigorously to splash at George’s face. " Ring the hell.” he said to the sexton. The man, who was horrified at the resull; of his idsnlificuion of old George, fumbled at the hell pull for nearly half a minule before he could command his trembling fingers, when he rang such a. peal as brought the houselmeper in wth a rush and an excited whirl of petticoats. “ Your master has fallâ€" en down in a fit." said John, slill dashing \valer into the unconscious face. “ Send for a doctor‘ \vilhoun 8. minulc’s loss of time." “ Hillo, Keen! "he gasped. “ You here? What‘s the matter? ” He was knealing by old George‘s unconscious figure before the question was answered. “ I brought him very disturbing private news,” said John, kneeling beside the sur- geon and lap akiugin a. low tone, “and he has had a fit oer it.” “ We mu. i: get him to bed,” said the sur~ geon ; and by his orders a sheet was procured end with some difficulty got under old George’s solidly made frame. John Keen lifted atone eide and the sexton at the other, The surgeon took the patient's head and the hmsekeeper his legs, and in this order they stumbled ripâ€"stairs with him, and laid him down. Then all but the surgeon and the housekeeper waited without to know the skilled man’s verdict. and by~and by it came VVhetlJer severe or slight the doctor was not yet certain ; but'there was concussion of the brain, and old George would sea to no husi- mess, howsoever important, for a while to come. “ I sappose I needn’t; tell you,” said John to the Sexton, " that in will he a. great deal wi<er in you to h0!d your tongue than to talk about; thuse things.” Wsz éfiéh2t-gziyKfiothink,” replled the sex- ton. John had no other reason for secrecy than his desire to keep Dineh‘s name out of the public mouth ; but his caution was not wasted on the sexton, who was more than a little timid as to the possible result of his own share in the matter. W'hen once the young lawyer had w1ittento Dinah. apprising her of Mr. Bushell’s sudden illness and its result of delay. he found time hang heavnly on his hands, He had no desire to encounter any of his old acquaintances just then, so he went into Birmingham, and, putting up at an hotel there, awaited the doctor’s decisive opinion on the case. He blamed himself in. tho precipitancy with which he had brought Jld George to buy, and told himself that he might much more reasonably have explained the evidence to him. In short, like other people, he felt wiser after the event then he had been before it. Two or three days went by, and the doctor was not sanguine. Mr. Busuell had no rele- tives to consult : and the medical man acting on his own initiative, brought in a great phy- chlal} from the neighboring great towu. The physician was no more sanguine than the surgeon; and, after lingering for a \Vrek. John went back to Wrethedale, leavmg in utructions with the surgeon to wire to him in case of any decisive alteration either way. Being arrived at home.he hastened to info: l1) Dinah of his return, end she called' upon lllll) within an hour of her receipt of hie rneaizano He laid her marriage certitiaate in her hands. and explained the whole result of his journey. Dinah iurned pale and shook a lmie as she read through the document, but she did not say much. “ A great pity," said John, commisemting all her troubles. “ But there is no doubt oi your legal title to the property, and no doubi that you will get it.” She took the certificate home and showed it to Ethel, who kissed her for sole coogratu letion. It was not easy for Ethel to con» gmtulute Dinah upon anything yet, though she read the mother‘s heart and symputh El d With her. The days went on, and no decisive news came of old George'r state John learned that he had re covered partial consciousness, and that he seemed to have u half-memory of the {ac that some trouble had befallen him But out of this state, so the doctor‘s letters said, he had slipped back again into complete oblivion. and it was, and would be for a long, time to come. impossible to rouSe him to the iiecussion of any affairs. however importam :hey might be. The doctor's letters, indeed \hough cautiously expressed. seemed to lean to the conclusion that old George wouln never attend to business anymore. In courSe of time that View was partly disproved, bu for the present thrre was nothing to do bu. wait. The criminal‘s sentence had mon Ilinn half its time to run, and before he coulo be ‘T€m;.___i g,»1 . . to he he m v ue decided in some w 0'“ t’ ,7 an” mum m.” .MVV_. ” It; was a. pity I didn’t know 0’ this before Mr. Keen.” That was all. “So on that; side affairs necessarily sfooo over. Far away in New York the releaseu ‘aunvxct had encountered his father, and him game away to San Francisco with him, am adjeturned to E! glandâ€"against. his .will nth hm), and had finally desalted him in hiverpool before 01d Gemrge was fit to b‘ spoken to, or had clearly recalled to mind me cause of the mischief which had come upon him. Never in his life had Joe Bushell felt so forlorn as when he stood alone. after the lapse of more than five and twenty years. on English soil; not, even when for the first time the sense of conscious loneli- ness decscended on him aboard slip. There were resolves in him then, and high hope, and he was gomg, in spite of all failings and follies behind him, to be a man, and to make ahome for Dinah. And how bad he fulfilled the promise?â€"-how clung to the hope? Bitter questions, that brought sad answers in an echo â€"how ? He had made a fortune; nonso much as he had left behind, not a fourth part so much, perhaps, yet still a fair handful of money; and of what use was i& to him? He ought- no have known better than to believe in that story of Dinah’s marriage. He ought to have returned to England â€"â€" he ought never to have left home whe ought- to have acted like aman, and not like a cad and a coward. There are few of us who have not played the fool. few of us who have nothing to con- fess, nothing of which to be absolved by devout penitence. nothing to have scourged outof us by human forgiveness. But there are not many of us who for a quarter of a century have crurhed a heart that ought to have been happy. And Joe. was a good hearted fellow, kindly and gentle, always ready to do a kindness, and never, in Rpile of youth‘s hot blood, willing to damage any- body. He had begged pardon of the Rover end raul in his heart a thousand times, and of his old chum Chesfon. And as for Dinah, she had been to him, not withstanding her light forgetfulness, something quite outside the sphere of com~ mon things and common people. He had never fallen in love again. and had lived apart from her in such chastity as few men â€"-very fewâ€"have a right to boast of. There was some selfish comfort there, perhaps. If he could get a eig> t of her, only for a moment. and could breathe to his own heart the words, “I have been as faithful all these years to your remembrance as you have been to mine,” it might have something of a balm in it for the sore future which he saw before him. But, look at it as he might, life seemed a. poor business. Tragedy, and foliy, and commonplace! Commonplace, folly, and tragedy! S ) he stood like an alien on English ground, and wished himself back in his western home again. Yet. being where he was, he must go on and fulfil his purpose. He wrote from Liverpool that night; to Cheston. saying nothing yet of Master George’s desertion of him, and without waiting for an answer, he started. I have left you to fancy Sir Sydney's sensnn tions on reading the letter of his sai-diaumt brother. Cheston’s imagination, n~ver very vivid, left him helpless at this time, and he was at first unable to conceive any posaible circumstances under which it cauld have been written. “What the dickens-?" he began, and stopped again, feeling-like the famous Amer icanâ€"unequal to the occasion. “Who the deuceâ€" :" he began again, and again he failed. “ What in the name ofâ€"â€"â€"â€" l" [‘liere was nothing big enough to conjure with in a case like this. It was the most beâ€" wildering and amazing thing he had ever met with in his lifetime. " My dear old Syd !" and " your affectionate brother. George I" The audacity of the confounded thing l Who ever heard of the like ? And all on a sudden he leaped at something very like the truth. Was Joe Bushell alive after all. and had he met some impostor out there who was trading on a good name, and who professed to be a. brother of his ? Weeks went by, and he heard no more of the matter until he received Joe's letter, when he in- etantly and impetuously wired to Liverpool and followed his telegram. But the two iriends had started before the telegram was dispatched, and the two had a day at cross purposes. The returned exile, leaving his traps at a Birmingham hotel, drove over to his friend’s house, and learned from the butler that Sir Sydney had gone to Liver pool. Cheston about the same time found that Joe had left his hotel and had taken train for Birmingham. There was nothing for either of them but to turn back again, Joe leaving his temporary address in the butler’e hands. - Everything leads to something, and the beronen’s impetuous rush hastened matters in relation to this history. John Keen was slaying in the same noxelwitu the returned wanderer. Neither of them had ever seen the otherY and neither had the thinnest ghost of an idea of the owner’s importance to him. John had re ceived intelligence of a. revival in old George, and was bent; on timing advantage of it, if that were possible. The two were alone, at the fall of a dismal and rainy evening, seated at ex.rexna distance from each other in a. big caffdeâ€"room, when m burst a man who glared round in 3h; (1qu of the place and went out again. “ I beg pardon,” said the ssranger, rising and advancing a step towards John Keen. “ (Jan you tell me if that was Sit Sydney Uheston ? ” “ In was," said John; and the stranger made a dash after the baronet. d “ Uheston! ” he shouted down the corri or. Back came the impetuous Cheston “ Who’s that ‘2 " “ Don’t you kan me? ‘ asked I: derer. “ Let’s have a look at you,” cried the haronet, dragging him to a. window. "By gad. 1b is you after all! Busheli, old man, l’m glad to see you. Confound it all, Iam glad. Why, Joe, old boy, We’d given you up for dead this fiveand~twenty years. Where have you sprung from? Got a. private room? I should have known you anywhere !â€"-any- where! You‘re deuced little changedâ€" dcuced little. Have you dined? Where’s the bell? \Vell, I am glad to sue you.” Shaking hands the While. Gheslon shouted [his welcome at top of his cheery voice. Joe‘s ayes were a. little dim and his throat. was husky. All this was in John Keeu’s hearing, and the yonngluwyer eat like one petrified. Here, then, was the wicked wanderer back again! John had his theories, like other people; and from the moment when Dinah had completed her story he had made up his mind about errant Joe. There was no doubt in his mind that young George got the black patch in his heart from his father. A better women than Dinah John confessed that he had never known. Heavould and could believe no ill of her; but he had a great faith in breed, and he believed that out of an honest father and mother came honest children, and no other. Thus, Dinah being in John’s eyes a paragon of womanly virtues, and her son ueing an arrant rascal. it was necessary to «uppone that the lad inherited his villany from his father. And the father had undoubt- edly been a bad lot. He had left his wife widowed all this time, had never written to her. never troubled his head about her, and, after inveigling her into a. secret marriage to begin with, he had with low cunning carried away her marriage lines, and left her to wear the burden of a moat undeserved and bitter shame. “ Forgive 1110‘ Sir Sydney, for interrupting this meeting7 with an old friend;H “ Hillo, Keen ! ” said Cheston. “ Didn’t sea you. How are yuu? See you in an hour at two. I’m engaged just; now,‘ So Joun Keen, when the first shock of amazement was over, made no ado about the IIliLLet, but, rising in cold wrath, he Walked {nietly along the room and tapped Joe on the moulder. " I am,” said Joe. ispeakiug somewhat mrdly. since he recognized hostiluy‘ m the qaestioner‘s none. ' “ it does a. fellow’s heart good,” said Joe, ‘ to see an old face again. How are you." h Yuu ran away from home in eighteen fifty 2’” mt; 06A momefit,” said John. “Are you," turning to Joe, “the son of Joseph Bushell And Elle nefiew of George Bushcll ?” the Wan "‘ I did,” said Joe. ” What then? ” “ I have something for your private ear, air, which I will trouble you to listen to at your earliest convenience.” Chesmu stared from one to themher. “ May I ask you who you are and what your business is ?” inquired J00, taking measure of his man through the dusk of the rainy evening. “ My name is John Keen. and I am a, 80' lieitor. I reside at Wrethedale. the town to which (as perhaps you know) Daniel Banks and his daughwr Dinah have retired.” “ Uheston,” said Joe, looking a little grey, “there’s something in this~someclaiug that [ought to know at once. You know this gentleman ‘2” indicating John. “ Perfectly.” said the troubled Chestou. still staring from one to the other. " Bun what the (lickeus is it all about, 1311811611 ?” “ ThatI have to learn,” Joe answered. “ Wait a moment.” He crossed the room, rang the bell,aud returned. “ How long," he demanded of John, “will it take you to make your communication?" “ I‘e-n minutes,” said John in answer. “ Very well." said Joe; and attlmt moment the waiter entered. “Waiter, Show this gentleman to a private room.” pointing to Ghesfon. “And, Cbeston, you’ll order dm- ner. won’t you ? Let it be a good one.” he said with ill aesuxned vivacrty. “ Here! We’ll leave it with the waiter. Get the best dinner you can as soon as you can. You’ll excuse me far ten minutes, won’t you ? “Certainly,” said the baronet, with his welcome and jnllity somehow chilled within him. “ I'll go into the smokingmoom. You will find me there.” “Vury good,” smd Joe. “Dinner fox' two ina private room. Have a fire, and make things cheexful. Plenty of candles. No gas. And get a good dinner, 5nd be sharp abnu‘it. Now, air,[ am at your service. l‘his way. if you please.” John followed. and Joe led the way into his bedroom. There he lit the gas, starSed it elgar, motioned John to a chair‘ and waited for him. He read enmityin theyoung man's manner, and was at a loss as present for the ground of in. “ A few months back.” bagan John, “ I was made the repository of a secret. A lady for whom I entertained a profound respect came to me. and on very weighty grodnde confessed that the name she bore was not her own, and that she was not as everybody who knew her supposed her to be, a single wo- man, but had long been married, and that the young man who passed as her brother was her son." Joe's cigar Went out, and he arose with a trembling hand to relight it. John went on. “ The lady’s husband had drserted herâ€" it is no business of mine to express an opin~ i011 on the case, and I will deal only with the facts â€"a few months after mirriage, and had promised, on. their parting, to send her the certificate of their marriage. He never sent it. She was ignorant of the world, and knew nothing of the law. She beliewd 111‘” the want of the certificate illegitimised her child and annulled her marriage. Her mother shared in that belief, and entered into a. pious fraud with her by which, as they both supposedY the lady’s honor would be saved. The child was bred as the child of hi-l grandparents. and was brought up in ig- norance of his father's existence." Joe's cigar was out ugaln, but he made no efi‘orb to relight it. “In time the boy's grandmotherâ€"supposed by all except her daughter to be his mother â€"died. and his mother, unable to claim or exert more than a sister‘s influence and authority, endured supreme unhappiness The boy went to the badâ€"not at once, but gradually. He is, at this hour â€"â€"-â€" In- ceneed as he was against the deserter of his wife, John needed all his heart to launch the blow. Joe's fictitious geiety about the din. not had hardened him, and his knowledge of the bitter and undeserved agonies poor Dinah had endured made the loyal-hearted young lawyer almost pitiless to the man be- fore him. And yet, Joe was not like an uni feeling scoundrei; and it ever a. bronzed and handsome face looked troubled in the world, so did the face John looked at. Yet it was his clear duty to tell the tale at once, and bring this main home to a sense of his responsibilities. So he tried back, and struck straight out. After a lengthy pause â€"â€"â€"" He is, at this hour, in prison for for~ gery li’ “ My God i" cried Joa with a. groan. This was his first news of the birth of his son, and it. need sourcer be said that it was terrible. The agony in his voice hit. the lawyer hard ; but hewenton sternly. spurred by his partisanship for the suffering wo' man and his anger at the husband's base neglt‘ct. ” He was engaged,” said John, ” as Mr. George Bushell's pnvate secretary. and he rigned the name George Bushes“ to a check f rthree hundred pounds. Had be known is, he was legally eminltd to the name, and his mother was enutled to the money.” “ Did he know in ?” Joe asked almost Wildly. There was a. gleam of light there. “ No,” answeled John. “ He did not know it. But when the news of his arrest, came to his mother’s ears, 316 made an 51]) peel to the probecucor. She laid bare to him we secrex of the prisoner‘s birsh, and im- plored him not to send one of his own flesh and blood to prison and dlsgrace. He drove her from his house insulsiugly, and refused credence to her story. The young man was tx'ied,and sentenced to two years’ impxiionâ€" went. Eieven months of that term, or nearly, have yet to expire.” “ My Grad l” Joe groaned again. and burst on a sudden into weeping so wild and pas sionate that John was dumb before him. i‘he punishment had. come home, thenâ€" home. lieâ€"he deserved it all‘ and more the. all ; and yet, it- Wns not his to bear, but hers. He had loved her, he had loved her. And this was what the white accusing unau~ casing faea had meant as it haunted his memory all these years‘ The little, innocent, gay maidâ€"harmless, us harmless ass a. dove, as u"fiited to light the world as u dove t2 light with hawks-â€"and he had left her to this terrible falel Incredible cruelty and base» mess I “ Tell me." he said brokenly, “whatever else mere 1.3 to tall." The storm raged itself out, at last, and he arose from his knees. John spoke again, but in a changed voice. " Your vife confided her secret to one liv mg creature only »a young lady to whom your 5011 V1“! engaged to be married before the discova'y of his crime.” The listener groenod anew, and once more John paused. “ Go on," said Joe; “ go on.” “ firr frond advised her that she loss of the cerdficate was no hair to her right to whatever property her husband's father had died possessed of; and for the suko of her son â€" to save him from future temptation and Inise:y-â€"sle determined to awempt In» establish ler claim. As a. first step she went to Wuston Church, and discovered that the register oi her marriage had been abstracted.” ” Ahsrrzctcd ?” “Abstricted ; stolen. Suspicion fell upon Mr. Georre Bushell, as the only person who had know; the secret; of she marriage, and the only p rson except your wife and 5011 who was inlerteted in it. It was discovered that he had bean to the church to examine the registerâ€"that he had sent out the s+xton wiih the gifnof a shilling to get a drink of beerâ€"and I loni‘ronted him with the sexton Before he hid fairly heard the charge, he cried out that-ho had never seen the man be- fore, and fell iown in a. fit, from the effects of which he has not. yet recovered. His ill ness has stayed proceedings on our part, and your arrival may alter the complexion oi affairs alwgeher. Mrs. Bushell. your wife. is strongly averse to any prosecution of Mr George Bushell, and I do not think that an) legal proceedings would have been necessary in any case. As a matter of fact, we had hold enough upon him winhout hevrng recourse to the law.” “ My father.” said Joe, looking up w1th an awful face, “ mtyde no will.” " He made 11) will, and in your absence his brother inherited everything. That has been a matter of common talk ever since I can remember.” “ And my son is in jail?” u Yea-n “ Mr. Keen ?” "‘ Yes 7” “ Do me a favor. Dine with Cheston Tell him everything. The people tell me h is a. magistrate. You can advise tonether- Are there any means of mitigating the sen- tence if We might compel my uncle to join in an appeal to the authorities. Talk it over with Cheston. I will join you in an hour or two. Will you do this?" "I will do what I can.” said John. Joe opened the door, and John ‘Keen walked out of the room. His opinion of the runaway husband was not yet changed, but it was shaken. And Whilst he dined with Sir Sydney, and, to that genial mtn’s amaze ment, told the tale in full. Joe was kneeling, in his own chamber; weeping, with such re- pentant and atoning tears as mist men-â€" lGod be thanked for itâ€"huve never had the ‘need to shed. I have said before, though without any special originality, that even a worm Will turn. Young George found his companiou’s watchful and friendly benevolence intolerable. Escape became a necessity. and he fled. He was conscious of some meanness in it, and he knew that his promises of an amended life had scu'cely been fulfilled. But then, all along, circumstances had been against him The change of destination and the change of name had been essentials, and who could have foreseen the dangers they carriedin their train? Net he. There was no comfort in Itherogue’s reflections on the reception Sir Sydney Cheston would be likely to give his guest, or on the questions which would be asked, and the answers which would perfOICe be given. For young George was one of those who liked to stand Well In the general opinion, and he was keenly sensitive to opinions adverse to himself, even when he was out of the way of them. To do him full justice he thought what an ass he had been to gamble. Euchre and poker were not his form ; he know next to nothing about them; and if ever he played again at any game of mingled chance and skill. it should not be in a game in which he was a learner. And now, to get away from that importunate companion of his. he had been compelled to sacrifice his luggage, and had secured ia. exchange for it only a. single port- manteau, the contents of Which would pro- hably be useless to him. “ I say, Bushell," ho had said, with a. cer» tain air of graceful regret and reluctance, "you’ve acted like a brick to me, and I'm quite ashamed, you know, to ask you for any- ming more. But old Syd ia a. pretty tough customer for a younger brother to deal with, and if I have to go to him for coin directly I get home 1 shall have n wigging. I don‘t mind that so much, but he’s a. good fellow is Syd, and I don't want to vex him. Would you mind letting me have a. tenner just to be able to sport a little money in from of him till I can square myself again ‘2" . Aidayur two before the voyage ended, George had approached his traveling com- punian. “ Of course, of course,” said Joe ; and prox duced a hundred dollar bill, which George got cashed by me steward. So that, in spite of extravaganues, he was not quim forlorn when he bolted. from Joe’s overwhelming benevolence. He did not care about going to any first rate hostel here, last Joe should find him again, and so he Went to attiird or fourth rate house, and laid there perdu for a time until the coast should be clear. Then he took train for Newcastle, and hung about for a day or two, making faint efforts to obtain em ployment. These were attended with such ill results, in the way of enquiry after refer ences and the like that he gave them up in disdain. His littlo stock of money dwindled and dwindled. He was. in debt at the house he stayed at beyond his means of paying, and, being unreasonably bothered for his bill. he took a high tone with the landlord, and assured him with a loity air that he was troubling the wrong sort of man, that the remittances he expected would inevitably reach him on the marrow, and that beâ€" young Georgeâ€"would never again use the landlord’s house in any future visits he might make to the town. The landlordâ€"half sus picious, but half imposed onâ€"consented to waityet another day; and young George, surmising that in all probability the remit-- tances were already at the bank, whilst his letters had been somehow delayed, went out to see, and forgot to go back again. Joe Bushcll’s portinanteau and its contents scarcely paid the lsndlord ; but they consolrd him partly. and young George went upon his way. From Newcastle-onâ€"Tyne to Durham, to begin with. Whilst his money lasted. he was not the man to deny himself; so he ate a fair dinner, and even indulged in the lux- ury of a bottle of wine. Then. on the mor~ row, he discharged his bill, seeing no way to leave the house without having first gone, through that ceremony, and, being nearly‘ cleaned out by this time and in a mood of some depression, he marched out of the town on foot. In a while, the weather clearing and the sun shining out With gaiety, his mood also cleared, and he went along with a sense of exhilaration. He fed at a little way- side public house, and left the people im- pressed with the grandeur of his manners, and his aflii'uility. He wandered on, without aim or prospect, sometimes in absurd good sgirits, sometimes gloomy. Days went by, and his last copper was gone; his shirt ends and collar had grown more than equivocal in aspect; his beard hzid affected a stubbly growth ; his clothes seemed all the worse for their good origin, in their dustiness and seedi- ncss ; his b.)0ts began to give way, and he was sinking fast into an ' abject look which suited his condition. But as yet no very terrible physical troubles had been encoun- tered. The weather was mild and fine w nnusually so for the season of the year ; and he wandered on in a dull contentment, cross- ed only now and then with a sense of the coming miseries and the wickedness and folly of ,the past. He was really hungry, {or the first time in his life; and. near ing a town, he retired behind a haystack, took 03 his waistcoat, rolled it up into a. bundle, buttoned his coat, and ran the waistcoat in at mine uncle's. It realised two shillings; and on this he supped, slept, and breakfasted. In the next town an old slopâ€"seller made a bargain with himâ€"two shillings andapatched workman‘s suit for coat and trousers, a cloth cap and a shilling for his hat. The five shillings lasted him a day, and he went on aimless and at sass. A day later he landtd at the workhouse. New, this was something of a. blow for him ; but he got a certain mental luxury out of it. notwithstanding. When he walked into the police station, he was pleased at the look of enquiry his demand for Workhouse relief extorted from the accustomed official at the desk. It was a tribute to his gentility. Many a gentleman had come to thiscondition before. Why not again in his case? He telt a certain stoicism, too. which seemed to do him credit under the circumstances There was that curious sell-deceptive same in him which is perhaps only the property 01 the horn pretender; and it was so distinct that he felt an absolute pride in fluuntiny hefure the accustomed (illicial eyes the pover- ty of one so evidently cultured and well-bred. He was audience as well as dramatist and clayer, and the situation was certainly sin gular. Yet, when he had answered the official inquiries, bud received his ticket, and gut inLo the street again, he seemed to feel that everybody knew he was going to the work. houae, and he found that. sensation oppres Hive. The policeman had directed him Lhuher. and the road was plain enough; but he dodged about hy-streeis to avoid observa tion until he lost the way, and had to as“ >mew to be directed. He chose to put the question to an old woman; and she in answgr raised her hands and said, “ Eh, dear me ,1 ” before she gave him the information he needed. Than pleased him too, though it CHAPTEE XXIV was not altogether pleasant. He was evident- 1y a gentleman, or the old Woman would not have been astonished. I have felt over and over again a sort of basenees in telling this young man’s story. Can a writer, any more than other people, touch pitch and not be defiled? .. But let me task your impatience and control my own a. little further. I shall have pointed a moral with him before I have done. though he may scarcely have served to adorn a tale. ....... ,.__.. The gates of the workhouse were vast and prison~like, and they reminded him of recent; experiences. After some looking up and down, he found an iron bell-pull and tugged at it with a result: so astounding in the way of noise that; he was borne down by the exigence of his own summons. and felt abashed when an angry porter came out of a small door round a projecting buttress, and demanded with some aspeiily to know what the row was about. George tendered his ticket almost with meekness; but. when the porter made further objections to the disturbance of workhouse tranquility, the reduced noble- man began to take a haughty air with him “ I beg your pardon, I am sure," said George‘ in the most aristocratic sounding dran he could command. “ This is my first experience in this line. I shall probably learn bettah by and by.” .. .. . M1 |-, “Let; me see,” said the porter, with his head on one side and his hands in his pockets. “ When was you here iast? Jan- nywerry. I think. Yes ; it was Jannywerry.” George surveyed this vulgarly auspicious person with calm scorn, answered his ques~ tions with all possible brevity, and followed him into the casual wardlikeUharles the First on his way to executionâ€"so tranquil his con- tempt, so resigned his martyrdom. 1 ,-_r,, V. ,, In the casual ward were already a dozen wa3 fuels, sitting listlessly on benches near the wall. They looked up when the new comer,entered, and looked down again ; and never a word they said, until the porter had disappeared, when one began to sing an un» refined ditty of Moll and Meg, unmeet for ladies. Now, our young nobleman, Astren redux, had never been particular to a shade of morals in a. song until now ; but he spoke out, after a while, with a very effective drawl. They all looked up again at this interrup him, and the smger was palpably @isgomficed ‘71? agke with S’ou; sir,” said a broken-looking. dirty grey man in a corner “ I‘ve seen better days myself, and I feelthut sort of thing oflensxve.” “ It aifliéjqulte the thing," said another; and a confirmatory murmur ran about; the place; 1 ~. u ,l u " The gentleman ’ll get used to it bymeby,” said one sturdy tramp. “ I respectfully venture to hope that I shall non,” returned the aristocrat of the tramp ward; and again there was a weary murmur of approval. 11" At this juncnure the porter returned, fol- lowed by a professional pauper, who, being a professional, had a nuluml disdain for ama- teurs. and treated them with lofty hauteur as he handed round blocks of dry bread. and tin cans of a tepid liquor which smelt of O rancid bacon. “ If things goes onlike this,” said the sturdy tramp, smelllug at the liquor with a dis- tasteful look, “ 1 shall smash another lamp or two. or rip my tags up, or do summat; an’ get another month. 'Lhey feeds you ten Limes as well in quod as they does when you are on the spike.” -‘ 1 nu “Why, this is the spike, my noble sports man," Bald the sturdy tramp; “an’ quod’s the shop where they cut your hair for uothin’. Never been there. I s;pose ?" “ Don’t take any motive of him, sir,” said the dirty grey man. “ Them as was born in 21 pg my can put. up with a. dirty litter. but I ve seen better days myself. and it’s easy to see that. you‘re a cut above this." “ Ye es." returned George, “ I hope that‘s tolerably apparent. This is my first experâ€" ience.” ” You needn't be so blooming proud about it,” said the sturdy tramp, who alorie of the room‘s occupants seemed unabashed by George’s tone and aspect. “ It’s no particular credit to be here." “T‘ fion’t you think you might sing that blackguard song ‘0 yourself. if you must sing it? ” T‘Xnéibray what may the spike be 7” asked George with 9. mighty condescending air. To this the fallen nobleman only answered by a. glance of calm disdain. at which the sturdy tramp chuckled with ostentatious merriment. George, being really hungry. ate his bread. but eschewed the: rancid smelling liquid. and the dirty grey man, see» ing this, begged leave to appropxiate it. “ It’s Warm 2111‘ it’s wet,” Bflid the dirty mun; “ an that’s abot'v 311 you can say for it. But in is a comfort, too, when a cove’s as cold inside as I am.” In this particular workhouse the ordeal by water, made famous some years ago by the Amateur Casual, was not practised, but the tramps were all bundled to bed immediately after supper in a common room like an ill favored harrack. George turned up his nose at the tumbled herden which did duty for linen, and, but for the interference of the professional pauper.who saw them all to bed, would honestly have preferred to sleep in his clothes. Perforce he accepted the professwii- al's dictum. and undressed; and having. in pursuance of the pauper's orders, rolled his clothes into a. bundle with the shirt outside, he got into bed and lay there in the early darkness, indisposed to sleep, and compelled for awhile to face his own reflections. He was not so miserable as he deserved to be, and his chief misery sprang from a bitter re» sentment to the world,whioh even now seem- ed to his own mind to have used him ill. Naturally, with young George selfâ€"preserve“ tion was the first law of nature ; and now that things had come with him to this lowebl), it was lull time to think of means for taking the tide again. His frther and Dinah were well to ~do, and it was it shame that he should beg his bread whilst people of his own flesh and blood lived in comfort. Yet, they were lost to him. It was impossible for him to go to his ,old home, to face his late employer, or run ithe risk of being seen by people who had known him; and how to trace his relatives bv any other means he could not tell. Tired of turning over fruitless projects in his ‘mind. he fell asleep, and did not awake until the clanging of a great bell mingled , with his dreams, anC last night’s professional pauper turned up again to awaken the sme- teur contingent. Then he dressed, and pres- ently, to his huge disgust, found himself face to face with a big pile of stones, on a raised stone bench, with instructions from the porter to see that he broke that heap up nice and small. " Like this." said the porter, producing a sample handful. George went to work reluctantly and clumsily, and hammered with small result upon the stones, but much to the damage of his hands and the stiffening of his muscles. After five hours" labor his work was criticised by the porter. who expressed unqualified disapproval of it in'. regard .to both quality and quantity, but forbore to detain him for the completion of his task. George, with a certain meek gran- deur. accepted and consumed his morning’s rations. washed in a bucket of water which everybody used in turn, and took his way into the streets of the town. The dirty. grey man crawled alongside. . “Which way do you think of going 7” he asked. - “ I know the line along between here and Chester," said the grey man, unabashed by this rebuff : “ but}. I can put you up to the coves to go to. A bloke as can. patter like you can ought to make a tldy thing of it it he’s only along with somebody as knows the line.” George capilulated. “ Where are you gomg ?" The man laid down his roufle, and the two started in partnership. Their Hick varied. The duty grey man had not boasted in vain, for he knew the road and its inhabitants; “I don’t know,” said George haughtily. ‘ Not yours.” but it was not always that George’s tale sua- ceeded in melting the hear! of his listener. This nicely assorted pair kepl, howevpr, from the workhouee, and there fell upon the younger wanderer’s spirit a sort of dull con- tentment in the life to which he had fallen. He told his tale so often that the true story became mythical and the lie looked true. But,af1er a 10m: spell of wandering, there came ufwn the companions n. time of famine. The old vagrant go‘t out of the line he knew, and in one or two cases mendicancy became dangerous. and they made their way out of some towns double quick. lest; the police should be setupon their heels. Workhouse fare and workhouse labor day after day, and wretched weather from town to town. until the fallen grandee grew sick and desperate. They crawled along. skirting the borders} of the principality, until within a four 'duys’ journey of the town of Barton. and‘ at that point young George’s piteous aspect and tenor- suunding voice of culture drew a shilling from a. charitable malster. Wllh that shilling l George bought amongst other things a sheet :of letter paper. an envelope, and a stamp, and in the sickness'and misery of his heait found pluck enough to write to John. Keen, his old comrade. General Bell, in his “Rough Notes by an Old Soldier,” tells the following amusing story of Maurice Quill, a famous surgeon of tho 3lst‘regiment, whose name has been immortalized by Lover in his novel. During the Wlntf‘l‘ of 1813â€"14 the army was almost in a state of starvation. Maurice Quill im- patient'at these hardships, with Irish wit and impu'dence, determined to put Lord Welling- ton himself under contribution, and made a bet that he would not only dine with the commanderâ€"in chief but also borrow ten pounds from him: â€"â€"ltiding up gallantly to the quarters of his lordship, he gave a thundering knock with a stick at the door, and asked if the Duke of Wellington lived there. " Yes, sir,” said the orderly, “ here is an aide-decamp coming. May I ask your business, sir?” “I wish to see Lord Wel- lington, it he is at home.” “ His lordship is in the house, but too much engaged to see anyone today; I Wlll take your message to his lordship.” “ No, I thank you, if I can’t see him today, I will wait until to niorrow.” “ Something particular, perhaps, you wish to say in private." “Precisely so." “ Well, step in, and I will see what 1 can do for you.” Away he went, and told his lordship that “ a Dr. Quill was below in a state of anxiety and would not take any denial, came a long Way to see your lordship, and would not go back until he had delivered his secret.” “ Well, well, show‘ him up.” After bowing and scraping, " My lord,” he said, “ I am the surgeon of the 31st, and have come over to pay my personal respects and to see your lordship, and â€"," “ Yes, yes (cutting him short), how are you all getting on in the second division, many men in hospital? You must get them out, we will want them all by~and~by.” “ In- deed, my lord, I was going to say that we are badly off for hospital supplies, and no money to be had ;I think I could get many restoring comforts for the invalide that would put them on their legs if I might make bold enough to ask your lordship for a loan of ten pounds until ti'e next issue of pay, when I will return it with a thousand thanks.” “ Very well. very well, Mr. Quill, you .shall have it; how far have you come to~day ? ” ,” 0, indeed, I have ridden seven long leagues on an empty stomach, and there’s not a bit of an inn over the whole country where a body eculd get a morsel "of dinner.” “ Oh, well, if not too late for you, stay and have some dinner before you return; we dine at six Good morning, .‘dr. Quill.” Quill’s eyes opened wide and joyfully at this invitation. He was punctual to the six‘, as he said. All his wit and humor came to the surface. He kept the table in a roar of‘ laughter all the evening until he retired with his ten pounds and his Wellington dinner, got a shake down with his friend the aide de camp, and his whack of brandy and cigars; got safe home next day and claimed his bets. He told his story honestly and gave his references, but there was no question about it; every one knew him to be as upright and honorable as he was eccentric, and surcharged with mirth and glee when others were desponding. “ What is an ocean ?" " An ocean is a large body of water entirely surrounded by British ship yards and covered with British shipping.” “ What is a strait, '1” “ Three fingers of whiskey without any water.” “‘ What do we mean by latigude ‘1” " Permitting an oilice holder to rob the people and get into Canada with his swag." “ What course would an American steamer take in going from New York to Liverpool ?" For People Who Have Non Got Their‘Eye Teeth. " Don't know. II; has been so long sinceone tried it. that she would probably bring up in San Francisco.” ' “ What; navy ?” “A choice ,ollection of three or four old hu'lks which can be cut down or built. up whenever an appropriation offers a. chance to steal}? ' “ What are our principal imports from Russia ?” “ Nihilists ahd canarus.” . i "‘ When; are our principal exports to Spain ?" “ Wooden headed ministers.” “ What is a gulf ?” “ The distance between the average hotel clerk and the guest who wants a front room on the second floor.” â€"It has been universallv supposed that a mule, having Satisfactorin kicked a b) shaman er to dealh, had no further use for the re- mains, but a. recent oceurence in the South lends color to a different bellef. Near East Ma'c'on. Ga., (1 week or two ago. a. negro was observed driving a. mule and a. horse. ham. eseed iogelher; along a by road. Several days afterward. two gentlemen who were walking through a piece of woods in Ithe vi: oinity camé’ uponfia wagon, a dead horse, and a living mule. All the fodder and the horse’s collar had been eaten, the horse‘s body had bé'en ripped open and not a, vestige of the negro remained. The mule wore an ex- pression of tranquil melancholy, but in reâ€" spsct to physical-conduit»: seemed~to be somewhat above his average. Of course it is easy to imagine What become of ,thenegro. but why the mule should havepreferred hu- man flesh to home meatis‘not appnrenfi unless his motive was revenge. This ex. pl'anatian is accepted by the family of the deceased. " DETROIT FREE PRESS GEO- GRAPHY. THE DUKE AND THE DOCTOR, Iw "Io DE CONTINUED.